


Silence

by Nopholom



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Anal Sex, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mild Blood, Muteness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-31 00:06:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8554981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nopholom/pseuds/Nopholom
Summary: He just… couldn’t speak… he’d never been able to, he knew how the words sounded, how they felt to push past his lips, but he couldn’t convince his vocal chords to follow through, it was as if they were broken, torn, incomplete, or maybe not even there at all.(Prompt Fill)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Combined prompt fill: -Goodnight/Billy where Billy loses his voice (temporarily or permanently, your choice) please!  
> -What if Billy isn't just taciturn, he's full on unable to speak?
> 
> This was actually hard to write because apparently Billy is a chatty Cathy when I write him. Also sorry I keep giving Billy a GrimDark past I'm just a shithole like that.

When men realised Billy couldn’t speak at all, let alone English, they had taken advantage of the opportunity he’d unwittingly given him; a man could do anything he wanted when his victim couldn’t tell anyone it had happened. They had taken his silence as affirmation, insolence, ignorance, anything they wanted it to be, that’s what it was, and he couldn’t tell them otherwise, could he? He couldn’t even cry out when they beat or raped him, or both, he couldn’t explain to the foreman why his eyes were so swollen he couldn’t see, how he’d broken his fingers on multiple occasions, or why tears filled his eyes on the bumpy cart ride to the railroad they were working on. Because he couldn’t use his voice to bring anyone else to his aid, he eventually took matters into his own hands; silence may have benefitted his abusers, but it also benefitted him as he snuck into their homes one by one, pinning them down, muffling them with dirty rags, and stabbing, stabbing, stabbing until they stopped twitching beneath him and all he saw was their blood and fear.

His silence proved to be offensive, he didn’t understand _why_ , but a meek shrug and a shake of the head wasn’t enough to abate the tempers of white men, they wanted answers, they wanted him to say something wrong so they could beat him, and when he didn’t, they tried to beat him anyway. After killing his abusers on the tracks, he lacked the sense to be afraid of those who challenged him on the road, who insulted him for being thick, too stupid to speak English; he wasn’t thick, he was smarter than them, he just… _couldn’t_ speak… he’d never been able to, he knew how the words sounded, how they felt to push past his lips, but he couldn’t convince his vocal chords to follow through, it was as if they were broken, torn, incomplete, or maybe not even there at all. But he wasn’t afraid any more, he’d killed men a thousand times worse than the drunks in a bar, he’d learnt to fight on the road south, figured out the guns he’d stolen off a man he’d stabbed, built up his knife belt whenever he could, he was well equipped to deal with a Texan saloon full of men who wouldn’t see an Asian served, especially one who didn’t even try to talk English.

He managed a weary look before the first man bore down on him, he was quick and graceful, ducking and pulling a knife to gut the man like a fish before he had another chance to raise his fist. As blood began to spill, men broke bottles and approached, he dispatched them with fluid ease, spinning and stabbing, hurtling a knife at a man across the bar who was trying to aim a gun at him and not accidentally shoot their own friend. Guns made things difficult but most men didn’t know how to shoot a man point blank, too panicked by the sudden lack of space between them and the one with the knife to take aim and squeeze the trigger. He stabbed a man and turned in his arms, using the dying man’s gun, still in his hand, to shoot two more men, his expression thunderous as he determined whether those remaining had engaged their fight or flight instinct. There were only two men left in the bar, and one of them was shoving past the other to get outside, the other was aiming a repeater at him, and every inch Billy moved, he was tracked with pinpoint precision, it would take a lot to escape this man’s sights and Billy was already beginning to flag.

“Lower the knives cher, we don’t want this any bloodier,” the man drawled, “I’ve got a warrant for your arrest, I’d prefer to take you alive,” Billy narrowed his eyes at the man and carefully slid his knives into his belt, annoyed with himself that he hadn’t noticed this obvious newcomer. The man lowered his repeater and Billy considered winging a knife at him, but relented when the man brushed by him with no fear, leaning over the bar to grab two tumblers and a bottle of whiskey, “Drink?” he offered, sitting down and beckoning Billy to do the same. “So, Billy Rocks huh? Not a very Asian name,” he noted as Billy tentatively sat on the stool beside him, fingers brushing nervously over the hilts of his daggers, “No need for that now, we can have a drink, discuss travel back up North, this doesn’t need to be ugly,” but it would be ugly, when he dragged Billy back and they hanged him, he’d rather this man shot him, at least then he could be the inconvenience of a dead weight. “Not much of a talker?” he asked, sliding a drink across the space between them, “That’s alright, I’m sure I’ll talk enough for the both of us.”

 

He’d been right, of course, the man, named Goodnight Robicheaux, never truly shut up, but Billy didn’t mind; for once in his life overseas someone was _talking_ to him, treating him like another human being, and not acting like he was simple of mind just because his tongue didn’t flap like a sheet on a line. They never went North, not after someone decided to pick a fight with Billy and Goodnight intervened with the suggestion of a quick draw competition, though his promise that if Billy lost his opponent could take a swing at him had been a bit startling. Billy didn’t have to worry though, he won easily enough, he was fast as lightning, the can he shot never stood a chance, and Goodnight had been almost dumbstruck by the display.

“You know, we could make something of you yet,” Goodnight had said to him, slinging an arm over his shoulder as he collected some meagre winnings, he wasn’t stupid enough to bet against his own man even if he _didn’t_ know his skills apparently. Billy had frowned at him, a question in his eyes that Goodnight read with alarming ease, “We could have a partnership, you and I, we could make more than your warrant pays in two, maybe three towns,” he explained and just like that, Billy’s warrant vanished from Goodnight’s possession, never to be seen again.

They’d worked like that for over a year, splitting everything fifty-fifty without much complaint from either of them, Billy had still never said a word and Goody had never pushed him to try, just accepted it as fact-of-life and compensated for it with his own chatter. They’d both had nightmares, waking up to find the other hovering over them looking concerned, Goody’s nightmares were loud and visceral, his sobs had shaken Billy to the core and waking him had been terrifying, the first time had almost gotten him shot. Billy’s nightmares were men forcing him down and choking him, he’d been able to scream in them, but not for very long, his voice rattled out of him like a coin out of a tin. He’d woken up grappling Goody above him, realising quickly who it was and drawing himself up into Goody’s arms, clinging to him desperately as he let out wet sniffling noises, crying.

That’s when things had changed between them, when their bedrolls started to be lain side by side through the night, where hands never really stopped touching one another once they settled down for the evening, the contact was a necessary comfort that neither of them really understood, but they couldn’t bare _not_ having it.

It was mostly innocent, just a hand resting on a shoulder, leaning into one another as Goody prattled on and Billy ate in silence, occasionally letting out the odd huffing noise that equated his laugh, but Billy was starting to wonder if maybe there was _more_ to it. He’d seen Goody looking at him, a fondness in his eyes that turned to shame the moment he realised he’d been caught staring, something not entirely platonic that Billy was wondering about too, but he didn’t know how to bring it up, he couldn’t ask, and making some kind of pass at Goody seemed like a really bad idea, if it went wrong, if he’d misunderstood, Goody would beat him to within an inch of his life and then rope him up, or any other man would, Goody might just leave. He didn’t _want_ Goody to leave, silence was suffocating, especially when you couldn’t even break it yourself, and Goody’s inane chatter had made Billy’s world a lot easier to live in.

 

He had dwelled on how to brace it for weeks after realising he wanted more, eventually sitting down beside Goody and trying to do something almost platonic, first easing his fingers around Goody’s wrist, letting it sit there unnoticed before trailing his fingers down to Goody’s hand, idly attempting to lace their fingers together.

“Billy?” Goody frowned and pulled away, Billy turned his gaze down and sighed, sadder than he’d have admitted if he could speak, “Jesus what…” Goody trailed off, the two of them sitting in awkward silence for a while until Goody’s hand moved to Billy’s and rekindled the gesture. Billy looked up at him, alarmed, confused, narrowing his eyes to try and figure out what Goody wanted here, if it was what Billy wanted too; Goody looked ashamed and uncertain, but his other hand came up and cupped Billy’s cheek, guiding him closer. Before their lips touched Goody turned his head, “Just… if you don’t want this…” he bit his lip then, “Do you want this?” he asked, searching Billy’s face. Billy swallowed nervously before nodding, half-closing his eyes and leaning to close the gap between them, a terrifying touch of lips that had them both trembling with anticipation; Billy didn’t really know what to expect, he’d never been kissed by another man, the ones who’d fucked him hadn’t been kissers. He shuddered as he remembered them and Goody eased away from him, “I’m sorry…” Goody whispered, moving away from him but Billy reached out again, wanted to explain that it wasn’t Goody’s fault, that it was something else. He didn’t know how to express it, so he pulled Goody back and kissed him harder, drawing a soft sigh out of him, Goody’s hands immediately moved to his hair, knocking his hat off and letting his hair fall free around his fingers. Billy loved the attention, the way Goody’s fingers dug gently into his scalp, massaging as their mouths fit together, tongues curious and uncertain even now; it grew easier, kissing Goody, a gentle shift from sitting together to lying together, Goody guiding Billy on top of him, Billy understanding where this was going, anticipation and dread rolling violently in his stomach.

The soft noises that Goody made against his mouth spurred Billy on, pushing him past the fear he felt towards this act, one that had never been done kindly to him, he wanted to tell Goody he trusted him, that he was scared but he trusted him, but he couldn’t, so he tried to show him. He was shaking when he sat up and moved to expose Goody’s buttoned pants, unfastening them slowly and drawing Goody’s hard length from them, stroking it the way he’d touched himself when he thought the other man was sleeping, wrapping his hand around and thumbing the tip. Goody moaned then and Billy let a small smile curl his lips, dragging his hand up and down a few times before releasing him and moving to remove his own trousers. He shifted up Goody’s body and took his cock in hand again, pressing the blunt head at his tense hole,  
“Woah, Billy stop! What’re you doing?” Goody grabbed Billy’s thighs and stopped him from seating himself, Billy just looked at him, confused, hurt. “Jesus Billy you can’t just _do_ that, you’ll hurt yourself,” the confusion remained as Goody signalled for him to wait a second, sucking two of his fingers before replacing the dull press of his cock against Billy’s already scarred pucker with them, smoothing the wet digits over that tight muscle and coaxing it to give into the pressure.

Billy was in shock, eyes wide and breath escaping him in quiet pants, so unused to being touched so gently and confused that he could be _enjoying_ something that had been used to hurt him in the past; he managed a shaky little hiss as the tip of a finger pushed into him, stretching him gently and carefully, so slow and inquisitive a touch that he had to nod to spur Goody on. He gasped as Goody’s finger pushed deeper into him, it hurt but not as much as it had hurt in the past, and the way Goody did it, withdrawing and circling the muscle a few more times before slipping it in again. It went easier every time, and every gentle push of Goody’s fingers made Billy’s cock jerk and his breath hitch, and soon Goody was rewetting his fingers with spit and sliding two into Billy’s asshole.

Billy was shocked to find himself rocking back against Goody’s fingers, panting as he gyrated his hips and took Goody’s fingers deeper and deeper, shuddering when they brushed against something inside him that almost had him shooting too soon. He pulled Goody’s shirt open, dragging his fingers down his chest and leaning heavily on him; he wanted to beg Goody to stop, to take his fingers out and fill him properly but all that came out were soft, barely audible moans, even now he couldn’t make anything resembling a real noise.

 

Goody built up to three spit slicked fingers, brushing that sweet spot inside Billy over and over until he threw his head back and cast his seed across Goody’s bare chest, but Goody didn’t relent, easing his fingers out only to replace them with his cock. Billy was shaking like a leaf as he seated himself slowly on Goody’s cock, trembling from his own orgasm and the sore fullness he felt, his cock giving a half-hearted twitch of interest as the pain passed onto pleasure. This was insane, he’d been fucked before, all rough thrusting and pain, the only thing slicking the way was Billy’s blood and cooling seed if he’d been passed around, but this was not like that, Goody pushed into him slowly, watching his face for any sign of pain, soothing him with gentle hands on his hips, praising how tight he was, how good he felt. He was overwhelmed and overstimulated, but he wanted more, pushing himself down onto Goody’s cock, taking everything he could even when it hurt, when he knew there was a tear, because in spite of that pain, something in Goody’s touch, in the way he looked at Billy as he fucked him, it made it okay, it made the hurt _good_. He wanted more but his energy was failing him, he sagged over Goody, panting and trembling with fatigue and Goody moved them, rolling Billy carefully onto his back, withdrawing for him as they moved; he settled between Billy’s legs, caressing his face as they looked at one another, leaning down to kiss him as he pushed deep within him again. Billy gasped against his mouth, wrapped his arms around Goody and met his thrusts as best he could, awed at how good this felt,

“God Billy,” Goody whispered, biting Billy’s lower lip gently before licking the swell and then into Billy’s mouth once more, kissing him hotly and devouring his gasping breaths. Goody dissolved into soft grunting as he fucked Billy harder now, pumping his cock into him with a delicious rapidity that had Billy’s legs wrapping weakly around him as their lips parted and he cried out silently in pleasure. Billy dragged his fingers down Goody’s back, rocking into him, trying to get him to hit that sweet spot again, and every time he did, Billy’s cock gave a little twitch, precum leaking from the tip, rubbing against Goody’s stomach. Goody didn’t give much warning before he came, burying his face in Billy’s neck and muffling his cry of Billy’s name with a mouthful of skin, filling his tight hole with his seed, the feeling making Billy come a second time, streaking their stomachs.

Their chests heaved as they slowly regained themselves enough to disentangle from each other, Billy’s legs dropping apart as Goody pulled out of him and sat on his haunches,

“Shit…” Goody whispered and Billy looked at him dazedly, “You’re bleeding, I’m so sorry,” Goody hurried to grab a handkerchief from his pack and press it where pink-ish looking seed flowed freely from Billy. It hadn’t really hurt much until Goody pressed rough cloth against it, making Billy grit his teeth and reach up to Goody, taking his face in his hands and silently imploring him to stop, trying to show it was fine to leave it, that he just wanted to lie with Goody now. Goody looked ashamed, was hastier in cleaning them both up, but soon settled down beside Billy, drawing him in close and sharing a blanket with him.


End file.
